


Food Fight

by misura



Category: Zombie Powder
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Possibly a bit more of the one than of the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ryuutchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/gifts).



> Sadly, there's a complete lack of shit blowing up in this fic.

"This soup is _the best thing ever_." Gamma only exaggerates a little bit - it's pretty great soup and they've just gotten a second helping _for free_ , which makes it taste extra good, given that they haven't got enough money for more than soup, and one or two principles too many to do a dine-and-dish. (Gamma calls it 'pride' and Smith calls it 'preserving his image', of course.)

Smith smiles that really annoying smile of his and then makes himself even more annoying by stealing one of Gamma's soupballs - and okay, there's a lot of them, that's what makes the soup so great, but that doesn't mean Gamma wants to _share_ or anything.

Besides, he hardly saw Smith's hand move, and that's just adding insult to injury.

"I like the croutons better," Smith says.

"You stole one of my soupballs _and you don't even like them_ ," Gamma sputters. "You - you - _soupball thief_."

Someone behind him coughs. Gamma ignores the cough with the verve of those who never catch a cold and who think 'get better soon' is something you tell people who might be able to put up a halfway decent fight with a couple of hundred of years of intense training or so.

"People who can't protect their soupballs don't deserve to have them."

"How'd you like to be stabbed with a fork?" Gamma grabs the fork. It's still clean - he's not even sure why it's there at all. "How'd you like that, huh?"

Someone behind him coughs very loudly. Gamma mentally checks the contents of his luggage - clothes, medicine, map, compass, stuff to clean his sword, chewing gum, that rat he caught trying to eat his sandwich two towns back. Nothing to fix a cold, alas.

"You can have one of mine," Smith offers. He's got a fork, too, of course.

Gamma considers the odds of the two of them leaving this place standing after a fight with forks over a soupball. They don't seem quite good enough to risk it; Smith's always got an extra trick up his sleeve. Besides, Gamma's heard it's not healthy to exert yourself right after dinner.

"Just don't do it again," he says generously.

Someone behind him appears to have gotten something stuck in his throat. It sounds disgusting, really, almost bad enough to put people off their food. Gamma takes a quick look around to check if anyone's actually getting up and leaving their meal on the table.

Eventually, he comes face to face with some short guy whose face is sort of red. There's a bunch of tall guys standing behind him. They're all glowering at Gamma like he's a criminal or a guy who interrupts other people's meals by coughing at them.

"Something you want?" Smith's smile turns a little less annoying. (Gamma doesn't actually have eyes in the back of his head, but he _knows_ Smith, just like he knows this guy's problem is much more serious than a simple cough. Deathwishes are so common these days.)

"You're Gamma Akutabi."

Smith does that thing with his spoon that means _'all yours'_. At least he won't steal any more of Gamma's food while Gamma's back is turned. That'd be unsporting, after all.

Gamma figures letting him deal with six big goons and one tiny guy with a red face is pretty decent.

"Autographs only after the show," he says, because oh well, he's maybe sometimes wanted to be a rockstar. In a completely non-serious sort of way.

"You killed my brother," Redface says. "Prepare to die."

Gamma considers pointing out that if the guy wanted him to be prepared, maybe he should've let Gamma _finish his dinner_. (Seriously. Do people even _think_ before they toss out lines like that?)

"Can this wait five minutes?"

Redface gets even redder. That's probably a 'no', then.

"All right." Gamma gets up. He doesn't draw his sword just yet, but he strikes a pretty cool pose that says: _'I'm the biggest, baddest dude in this restaurant and out of it, and you_ do not _want to mess with me when I'm having a bad hair day. Which today isn't, because my hair? Looks pretty damn amazing.'_

Smith slurps a bit as he finishes his soup.

Redface steps back - the goons (Gamma's going to have to assign them numbers or something) step closer. They're really very tall. Gamma might be sort of intimidated if he'd been - well, tied up, wearing handcuffs, gagged, naked and blindfolded. Maybe. A little.

They're not tall enough for him to headbutt them in the crotch. Oh well. Gamma's got boots, and he's much less fussy about where he puts them than he is about his hair.

Goon One goes down. (Easiest to number them in order, Gamma figures.) If he's smart, he's going to look for a career in singing. Not a lot of guys around who can reach that pitch.

"You - " Goon Two starts saying, when Gamma draws his sword and figures there's words nobody should be using when there's kids around. (And there are.)

It's kind of too easy, except that Gamma was _having dinner_. He's not looking for fun, here; he just wants this to be over so he can go back to his soup, see if he can wheedle a third helping out of that nice cook.

Gamma hopes making Goon Three crash into a table and sort of breaking it a little isn't going to disqualify him for any more free extra helpings of soup. It's not really his fault, is it? Guy's a danger to himself, clearly - nothing to do with Gamma if he's the one whose sword did the actual dirty deed. Could have happened to anyone.

Of course, most people wouldn't have looked as cool doing it. The kid from table twenty-two looks kind of impressed. Gamma swings his sword in a totally showy way that accomplishes nothing at all, and then goes for a fancy move called the 'diving Phoenix' (or 'divine Phoenix', maybe; it's hard to keep all the moves and names straight in his head, especially the ones that are so totally pointless).

That's when his sword gets stuck in the ceiling.

Gamma can't believe it at first. Okay, he moved his sword up, and okay, there's a ceiling - yes, right there, a good distance above his head - and okay, maybe the distance between his head and the ceiling is less than the length of his sword, but. But. "Um. Can I have a moment here? Anyone's got some measuring tape I could borrow?"

Smith chuckles. Bastard. On the other hand, Smith seems like just the kind of guy who carries around measuring tape, just so he can make disparaging comments about other people's shortcomings.

"Hey," Gamma says, regretfully deciding against jumping on the table to make sure he gets Smith's attention. Some of his soup might spill. "You. Measuring tape?"

Smith sighs. It's a work of art, that sigh. Gamma's almost impressed.

"Get him!" Redface yells at the three remaining goons. "He can't hurt you now!"

Smith's sigh is _nothing_ next to Gamma using his sword to swing and kick Goon Four in the head. Gamma grants Redface that yeah, maybe it didn't hurt much but come _on_. When did this become about _hurting_ people?

It's a bullet in the forehead for Goon Five, which is just - "Hey!" Gamma yells. "I was getting to him!" He sort of wants to take another swing and land on a table - any table; people _listen_ when you're standing on a table and scream at them, but that's when his sword finally comes loose, of course. _Of course._ Bits of the ceiling come loose, too, but Gamma figures that as long as most of it remains up there, he's good.

He takes a swing at Goon Six and for a moment, he considers catching the bullet he knows is headed in the same direction, just to show everyone that he's _Gamma Akutabi_ and that he can do stuff like that. Smith has let him have four of them, though. They can share this one.

Goon Six's head bounces around a bit before it lands. Gamma doesn't know why; it's just one of those weird things you get to see sometimes. Redface seems to have left the building; Gamma doesn't see him anymore, and Smith has put away his guns again, so that's that.

Gamma checks his sword for damage. It looks fine. He sits down again, pretending not to notice the way people are looking at him. Gamma's a cool guy; he can't help it.

Smith is smiling faintly. It doesn't take Gamma long to figure out why. "My soup! You bastard! I was out there getting attacked by a bunch of - of _nobodies_ , and you ate my soup?"

"It was getting cold," Smith says. "We should go, anyway."

"No way!" Gamma is still hungry. "I want a new bowl."

"We should go," Smith repeats, his smile a bit more firm now. He stands up, puts on his hat again (Gamma doesn't know why he takes it off to eat). Walks to table fourteen. "My apologies for dropping a head in your soup." The family at table fourteen gets Smith's polite smile, the one he uses mostly on young women, small children and people in law enforcement.

"If they're not going to eat it anymore - " Gamma starts.

Smith steers him towards the exit. "I've received word about a Ring."

"Really?" Gamma forgets that he's being steered for a moment and stops. "Just now?"

Smith shrugs. "It may be nothing."

"Let's go check it out."


End file.
